The Mighty Quinns: Rogan. Kate Hoffmann
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it always pays to be prepared. I like to be prepared. You can appreciate that, can’t you?”
“I can,” Rogan agreed. “But then, there is something to be said for spontaneity. Interesting things happen when you don’t plan for them.”
“I suppose so,” Claudia said. “I didn’t expect you to be so attractive. I didn’t plan on that.”
He chuckled softly. “What did you expect?”
“Someone older. Rougher around the edges. More commanding.”
“I’m not commanding?” Rogan asked.
“No. I mean, you’re obviously very competent. But I’d call you affable. Yes, that’s it. You’re affable.”
Was that really her first impression? Rogan wondered. Women were usually much more taken by his charm and devastating good looks. Or so they said. “And you’re drunk,” he said.
“Maybe,” Claudia admitted. “Just a little. But you’ll still be affable in the morning.”
For some reason, the sentiment seemed to amuse her and she got caught up in a long fit of giggles. Rogan found her loss of control just as endearing as her joke and he joined her until they were both giddy and breathless. Claudia took a deep breath. “I feel better now,” she said.
“Better than having a good cry?” he asked.
“Much better.”
“Come on then,” he said. “I’ve got you a room. You can finish your drink there. That way, if you pass out, you’ll already be in bed.”
He picked up her glass and waited while she got to her feet. Her bag was still sitting next to the stool. “Can you have someone bring her bag up to room 1114?” he asked the bartender.
“I can get my own bag,” Claudia protested. “I’m not that drunk.” She bent down to pick it up but had to reach out to balance herself on the back of the stool. “Then again, maybe I am.”
“Come on, Doc. Just put one foot in front of the other. The lift isn’t that far.”
“You are a very good guide,” Claudia said, waving her finger at him.
It took a bit of time for her to balance her purse and her bag, but then she took off at an amazingly brisk pace, her shoes clicking smartly against the marble floor as he followed. When they got to the lift, she pushed the button and stared at the lights above the door. He stood behind her, wondering what was going through her head.
Rogan knew exactly was going through his mind. His gazed drifted down to her bum and he contemplated the curves beneath the unfaded denim jeans. By appearances, she seemed to be the model of perfection, right down to her painted fingernails. But he got the sense that the prim and proper exterior was hiding a mess of contradictions on the inside.
He’d always heard that about shrinks, that they were usually more crazy than their patients. She’d been crazy enough to try to get five of her phobic patients on a plane together and fly them all to New Zealand, and crazy enough to plan this trip.
But though it was probably going to be a hellish week for him, he relished the chance to get to know her a little better.
Rogan had always been attracted to “easy” girls. Those who didn’t fuss over their appearance and who were ready to surf or bike or hike at a moment’s notice. That was obviously not Claudia Mathison. She was a planner, the kind of woman he usually found irritating. And yet, he found himself strangely attracted to her. Or maybe it wasn’t attraction, but curiosity.
Still, he’d be wise to temper the attraction with a healthy dose of suspicion. She wanted to analyze him, and he wasn’t about to bare his soul to a stranger, even if she was a beautiful, sexy, intriguing woman.
Revealing his insecurities and vulnerabilities wouldn’t do either one of them any good. She’d see him as flawed and he’d be constantly on edge, waiting for her to use the information against him. Hell, he hadn’t even revealed his innermost fears to his own brothers, and they were the two people he trusted most in the world.
Then again, maybe that was why he’d never fallen in love. He’d never trusted a woman enough to let her get close...really close. That kind of trust was a double-edged sword. It could open up a person to love but it could also destroy him in a single blow. Look what had happened to his mother. No, he’d keep his heart to himself.
But her challenge did intrigue him. He was sure he could get the good doctor to loosen up—without revealing any of his secrets.
The lift doors opened and she stumbled inside. Rogan followed her and they stood together as the door closed. She was closest to the control panel and he waited for her to push the button for the eleventh floor.
He smiled to himself. She’d fixed her gaze on the lights above the door again, her pretty face crunched into a frown. “This lift is broken,” she finally said. “It’s not moving. Or is it moving?” She leaned back against the wall. “Maybe I’m the one that’s moving.”
Rogan leaned across her and pushed the button. “I fixed it.”
As they rode up, he closed his eyes for a moment, drawing a deep breath and taking in the scent of her perfume. He usually didn’t care for perfume, but right now, his senses seemed to be operating in overdrive. Everything about her was much more tantalizing than it should be. By the time they reached her room, Rogan was already wondering what it might be like to kiss her.
She had an amazing mouth, wide and expressive, with lips the color of ripe berries. He knew the unwritten rule that a guide should never seduce a client. But Claudia really wasn’t a client. He wasn’t guiding her, he was guiding her patients. And so was she. By all accounts, they were coworkers. At least, that was the story he was telling himself.
He pulled her keycard out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her, but she struggled to make it work. Rogan reached for it, but she brushed him off. “I can certainly get the door open,” she said.
She made an amusing spectacle, her dark hair tumbling around her face, her color high. Each attempt was followed by a soft curse. “Not so quick,” he advised. “And wait for the light to go green before you pull it back out.” Claudia gave it a few more tries before she reluctantly handed the card to him. “You do it.”
He reached around her and unlocked the door, then pushed it open. “After you.”
Claudia turned and stood in the doorway, blocking his entrance. “Thank you for everything you did. I appreciate your...efficiency.”
He held out her drink. “Well, good night then.”
She reached out for it, but miscalculated and ended up knocking the glass into his chest. The vodka sloshed onto his shirt and she reached out to wipe it away. Rogan captured her hand with his and pressed it against his chest, her delicate fingers splaying over the damp fabric of his shirt. His pulse quickened and his heart pounded against her palm.
“Can I ask you a question?” she murmured.
She raised her gaze to his and he fought the urges coursing through him. “Sure,” he said.
“If you’re thinking about kissing me, what’s stopping you?”
Was that an invitation? Or a rhetorical question? He wasn’t sure. But the scent of her hair and the sight of her lush, damp mouth was too much to resist.
At the same time, she was drunk and he wasn’t about to do something that she’d regret the next morning. He bent closer and brushed his lips against her warm cheek.
When he drew back, her green eyes were wide with surprise, her lips parted as if she were about to say something. He fought the urge to take things a step further. Then she threw her arms around his neck and took the decision out of his hands.
Her lips were soft and damp, and as the kiss spun out of control, Rogan smoothed his hands around her waist and drew her